


Sinking

by MadReisz



Category: ATEEZ (Band), K-pop
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Memories, Comfort, Cute Ending, Defense Mechanisms, Extended Metaphors, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Insecurities, Kinda, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Trust, Veiled Sexual Tension, Vulnerability, artificial control, attempted use of cinematography techniques through language, but brief, fears, primal control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:42:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28034838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadReisz/pseuds/MadReisz
Summary: “I just want to sink.”As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets saying them.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Sinking

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to one of my best friends, user papayapanic, without whom this VERY short story would have not ever seen the light of day. She took on the laborious task of working with me to help me improve my, honestly frightful, first story in months. She knew that I had a lot of insecurities about my writing, and was still kind enough to offer her assistance. For that alone, I am so grateful! More than that though, she gave me space when I needed (i.e. - me internalizing a small comment to mean I’m a horrendous writer, when actually it was just a question, but okay brain...go off). She combed through this bad boy multiple times and left thorough notes, questions, revision suggestions, and quick edits in her wake. No one else would be as patient and understanding with my moody a**, so thank you SO much. It means the world to me that you put in so much time and effort on this. I love you bunches and bunches. :))

“I just want to sink.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets saying them. That’s not true, because he means them; he regrets voicing his thoughts to _San_. San who is giving him this unfathomable look, as if he’s suddenly speaking a different language. Maybe to San he has been speaking another language, because San is carefree and perfect. 

San shakes his head, post-shower hair flipping in front of his pretty eyes, before speaking, “No, you don’t.”

Wooyoung thinks he might laugh then, might just let the festering whatever-it-is inside him take shape. He’s afraid to let it out though, afraid of what it will transform into if he lets loose. He turns away instead, he doesn’t want to see San’s face: the gentle crease between arched brows and the way his lips are pressed thin and jaw working. He most definitely doesn’t want to see the way San’s eyes survey him, tracing paths Wooyoung swears he can feel along the contours of his own face. 

“I do,” he insists, nails digging into his palms now. And what does San know anyway, of how Wooyoung feels? Wooyoung is supposed to be a great dancer, a good singer, a visual member. He’s supposed to be. Yet, it’s San that Yeosang - his roommate - seeks out and has private conversations with, in hushed tones and with wary glances. It’s San who moves like lightning, sings like water, and it’s San who is the prettiest. 

Watching San dance, shapeshift really, feels like a time when Wooyoung's heart lay nestled white-hot in his chest.

*** 

He was lucky enough to grab a window seat, his two brothers squishing in beside him, as they set off to visit their oehalmeoni. Despite the overcast weather, he was excited to eat his grandma’s dried persimmons; her’s were always the best. The further they drove east, and then south, the more the sky bruised and the clouds swelled. 

He’s not great with directions and reaching that far back yields no help, but they’d been on the large roadway leading toward GimPo Bridge when the low rumbling of distant thunder had begun. 

His mother turned to his father and spoke softly, “I was hoping we’d beat the storm.”

There’s a short blip in his memory, where he feels, rather than knows, that his youngest brother started to cry. Some time later all three brothers sat, each one with a lollipop of their own, and the youngest happily busy. 

Then there was the first strike: distant, but bright. Their car merged onto the bridge when the next bolt lit up the whole sky and he watched, lollipop hanging loose in his mouth, as the hungry fingers of white-hot electricity clawed their way toward the earth, toward the distant center of the Han River. The tendrils halted just short of the water before suddenly disappearing, and a loud crack snapped the world in two, then rumbled on for some length of time. 

He remembers how it felt as they continued toward the middle of the storm: the way the windows fogged and the air seemed too thick to swallow. How he’d felt warm and safe beside his family, tasting the sweet watermelon flavored pop in his mouth, but also on the brilliant edge of fear with each flash and crack.

When he watches San move, snapping and twisting, and wonderfully warm but excitingly frightening, he feels something torrid clawing its way upward. He feels overwhelmed, but suddenly safe. He feels warm, but on edge, and altogether too much. In those moments he wants to sink, below the surface of the water where the lightning could never quite seem to reach. 

*** 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” San reaches toward him, but Wooyoung shoves his hand away. He doesn’t want San’s comfort. 

“I want to sink,” he repeats, hating how dramatic he sounds to his own ears, then a beat later, “you wouldn’t understand.”

Sometimes Wooyoung wishes they weren’t the same height. It’s nice when they have shoes on and their heights vary and he likes having the option to look up or down into San’s eyes. Here, now, when San moves to stand before him, and both their feet are naked, Wooyoung has no choice but to make eye contact. He hates the worry that paints San’s features, draws them tight. He hates that San still looks so beautiful, even now. 

“Help me understand,” San whispers, drawing a breath closer. 

Wooyoung's pulse thunders in his ears and his focus is torn between everything and nothing. The trendles curl around every nerve within his body. Staying close like this feels impossible, dangerous even. It’s as if the vines along his receptors will squeeze and squeeze until all his nerves are balled and bouncing heavy in his chest cavity. It feels like he will implode, leaving behind a Wooyoung-sized black hole. 

He backs away and tries to ignore the way it makes San’s frown deepen. He pushes a hand through his hair, idly aware of how closely San tracks the movement. It all feels too familiar: Wooyoung’s racing heart, San’s intense gaze, and their diminished proximity. It belays the touch of a ghosting memory.

*** 

They were alone together in one of the company’s practice rooms. There was nothing abnormal about that. 

There was nothing abnormal about the way San walked back in through the door while Wooyoung was going through the routine by himself. There was nothing abnormal about San encouraging Wooyoung to continue as he settled himself against the back wall. There was definitely nothing abnormal about the way Wooyoung watched San through the mirror. San seemed equally and unshakably focused on the dips and divots Wooyoung’s body made as the high hats rattled through the speakers. 

It was perfectly mundane, except that Wooyoung felt his heart racing. He put it off as exertion from dancing. He wasn’t tired yet, he could keep going, but he stopped before the second verse as his eyes caught San’s in the mirror. 

It was as if the room was shrinking around them until all the space left was occupied by only their bodies. Logistically he knew that San was some distance behind him, but Wooyoung felt as if they were suddenly too close. His muscles stiffened and his skin itched: he felt like a second skeleton was trying to fit within his brittle frame. Then he blinked slowly, which allowed him to breathe, but still his heart wouldn’t relent. 

There was shuffling from behind and then the padded footfalls of a barefoot San who plopped himself right in front of Wooyoung with a bounce. Wooyoung felt the lace from one shoe against his ankle and studied it, wondering when it had come undone. The small height advantage he possessed in that moment also allowed for San to bend just slightly forward. He was peering up at Wooyoung, his eyes rounding into almonds, his cute button nose scrunched up, and his wide lips barely parted. 

“San…” Wooyoung chewed on the inside of his cheek to stop himself. He knew the only things he’d say then and there would have been hurtful, purposefully so; they would have provided him with enough brick and mortar to close off the ugly thing in his chest that writhed at San’s proximity. 

“Yes?” It slipped between San’s parted lips and Wooyoung wondered if it was the lack of effort that made it so breathy. 

He cleared his throat to clear his head and the budding thought of what would happen if he leaned forward—“it’s nothing.”

San watched his lips when he talked, and Wooyoung felt his throat close painfully around the shapeless thing as it tried to squirm up and out. Despite his efforts, something broke through: 

“Stop acting possessive.”

The room was silent and the words he’d spoken hung between them. San reeled back and the space created felt like a vacuum; Wooyoung thinks that it should have been easier to breathe in that moment, but it was somehow harder. They assessed one another, and the tension from before returned. Only this time the room didn’t feel too small, it felt too big. 

Wooyoung pushed a hand through his hair, keenly aware of how astutely San tracked the movement. “Stop acting possessive if you don’t mean it.”

Then he turned away, the force of which caused a harsh squeal from his rubber soles, and he left the practice room. It was stupid really, because they both ended up having to take the same company car back to the dorms. The ride was silent, San having entered the back with earbuds already in. 

Two days later, the group participated in an interview for SBS PopAsia and Wooyoung rested his arms around his roommate’s shoulders. If San did the same to Hongjoong, he didn’t notice. If San’s hands accidentally brushed against his arm or side, he didn’t notice. If San acted possessive and put an arm across his shoulders, he didn’t notice. He was too busy pretending that the thrashing that emanated from his chest wasn’t on the verge of consuming him whole.

*** 

Now, here they are, standing face-to-face again, and Wooyoung feels off kilter because he knows that he’s incapable of stopping the festering in his chest from bubbling up. He can never seem to properly convey his thoughts and feelings that whirl around inside him like the winds before a storm. 

“Woo-” San takes another step forward, but falters. Wooyoung thinks this time he really might laugh. Him. The weak link of the group, the one who feels too much, the one who can’t properly express himself, he’s the reason San - lightning personified - stands shocked. Something along the cracks of his being must have shown itself, as everything all at once crashes down upon him, as relentless as ocean waves. 

He’s sinking. 

He can't feel his feet; he is both weightless and heavy. He's sinking too fast. And it feels too sudden, too much, too real, and unforgivingly endless. He claws for San but stumbles on numb legs, and he’s falling, sinking, drowning. 

San catches him easily and they both drop to the floor. There’s a dull thud that emanates from Wooyoung’s knee and he means to only let out a disgruntled moan, but that shapeless thing that haunts his chest takes hold and the sound shifts into a whine. He wants to pull back, to run away, to never see San again, but as he moves to escape, he realizes that San is holding him fiercely. He becomes aware of the way San’s finger’s grasp so hard at his shirt that the loose tee feels skin tight. He feels, rather than hears, the gentle hum of San shushing him. 

Slowly, like a movie, he reels back into himself and realizes that he’s crying, been crying, and finds himself unable to stop another whine from bubbling to the surface. 

“It’s okay, Wooyoung, whatever it is, we’ll get through it. I promise, whatever is happening, I won’t leave you to fight this by yourself. I promise.” 

He feels his resolve shrink further with each word that San presses into his hair. Wooyoung lifts his arms from dangling lamely at his sides, and circles them around San’s back. As soon as San feels the younger returning the hug, he pulls tighter. 

This San, Wooyoung thinks, is nothing like the one who dances the way lightning strikes. This San feels different, feels like the warm safety he’s been craving. This San grounds him, stops him from sinking, helps his insides stop churning, and calms his turbulent thoughts. 

His breathing returns to a normal cadence after a while and his whines die into shapeless nothings, but they don’t stay in his chest anymore. He let’s one arm fall, then the other, before pushing back. San relents, but his hands fall to Wooyoung’s knees, and two thumbs rub gently over the cotton pajamas. 

“Wooyoung-ah,” San has to stop and clear his throat, his voice thick, “please let me help you.”

This time Wooyoung really does laugh, though it’s more of a huff than anything else, “like last time?”

“Last time?”

“I asked you to stop acting possessive.” 

San is silent.

“You haven’t stopped.” 

“You told me to stop if it didn’t mean anything.”

Wooyoung lifts his eyes to meet San’s gaze, which is unreadable, “exactly.”

“Exactly,” San counters, his head tilting ever so slightly. 

They don’t speak for a moment, then San sucks in a breath like he’s preparing to say something. 

“Then why didn’t you stop?” Wooyoung asks breathlessly.

San leans in, his face still unreadable but lovely, then in his hushed voice, the words lilting pleasantly, he asks a simple question, “can I kiss you?” 

Just like that, San grounds him again. The treacherous part of Wooyoung’s brain that couldn’t stay quiet before ebbs into the recesses of him. It’s still there, sending out small ripples, but in its wake is a bright blossom in the depths of his chest. He’s not answering, can’t answer, doesn’t want to break the spell, the moment, the manifestation of his nightly dreams. 

“Can I kiss you?” The words are repeated, but this time San’s voice is full, his eyes tracking back and forth between Wooyoung’s, searching and hopeful. 

Wooyoung takes another minute to stay suspended in this space, feeling the hardwood floor beneath him. He’s aware of how he could wiggle his toes against San’s calf. He’s aware that with each passing moment the tension in his body seems to drip out. Most importantly, he’s aware that maybe, just maybe, his feelings for San aren’t one-sided. 

He doesn’t think he has the voice, or rather the will to use his voice, so he nods twice, his gaze unyielding. San blinks slowly, as if he's just realized he’s not in a dream and Wooyoung thinks he understands now. He gets why San had responded to him in that way, repeating back a single word: exactly. 

They lean forward, teetering on the edge of something cautious, careful. San tilts his head marginally to the left and Wooyoung closes his eyes as San’s begin to fall. 

Their lips don’t meet center on at first, it’s not like a romance movie or a novel-perfect first kiss. It’s a little too wet from tears, just a little too fast, and slightly lopsided. When they separate it’s brief, barely a pause, and really they didn’t separate at all, because San’s bottom lip drags across Wooyoung’s mouth before the full pressure returns. 

This kiss, if it’s to be counted on its own, is different, but in all the good ways. Wooyoung doesn't know what it's like to glide against the silky surface of lightning, but this is how he imagines it must feel: sweet safety tucked along the edge of jagged fear. It’s exhilarating and wonderful and he never wants it to stop. He feels the weight that grounded him grow and grow until he feels too full again, but it envelops him in warmth. Pulling back, only enough to break the contact, he opens his eyes to find San already searching his face, brows gently furrowed. 

He smiles, “I really, really like you San.”

San grins in return, “I really, really like you too Wooyoungie.” 

Then they’re leaning in once more, purposeful and sure.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
